Home Lyrics: A Book of Poems Part 8

Besides I dreaded now to rouse the house; No, I would dress, then wait, still as a mouse, For early dawn, a note to Harry write, Which would my wronged position soon make right.

Yes, I would go before the servants were, Or any of the family, astir.

Consulting Bradshaw, then, I found a train Arranged to leave at six--could I but gain The station by that hour, how happy I Should be. I soon resolved to try.

I dressed at once, my letter with sad heart Placed on the table, and prepared to start.

Opening the door I crept out cautiously, With boots in hand down stairs quite noiselessly; Arriving in the hall I put them on, But found the front door locked and the key gone!

Confound it! what on earth was I to do?

I'd try the kitchen entrance to get through; Steering in that direction, on I went, To find some egress resolutely bent; Coming to baize-clad folding doors at length, I turned the handle, pushed with all my strength.

Then, Murder! Thieves! and Fire! I shouted loud, For tightly clasped in writhing pain I bowed Within the thief trap, where I had been caught, Which Harry had explained, but I'd forgot; The sharp, excruciating agony, From the electric current, cruelly Vibrated through me from my head to feet, Urging the goaded blood to fever heat.

At last the cruel knocks and shaking ceased, And from the horrid thing I got released; I dropped bewildered on a chair hard by, With tortured body and despairing cry, And then spied Harry shivering at my side, Asking how I came there, when I replied, Why, I was going off, I gasping said, I've been most miserable since I went to bed, This is the climax, I have suffered so That I am quite determined now to go.

Nonsense, said Harry, come upstairs again, I'm sorry you've been put to so much pain, But I will soon make all things right, you'll see.

No, in this house I'll never happy be; I'm much obliged for all your kind intent, But am on leaving resolutely bent, For what with handles, tubes, bells, wires and such, With pipes, coils, batteries, and k.n.o.bs to push, I've almost lost my head, am racked with pain, And long my own snug lodgings to regain.

Well, wait at least until the men arrive, When we can to the station quickly drive, And meanwhile Jane your breakfast shall prepare.

No, no, I cannot wait for Jane, I then declare, Pray let me go, or I shall miss the train; Good-bye, in town we'll shortly meet again, I've left a note to tell the reason why I felt obliged to go; again, good-bye.

I'd not gone far along the path before I ventured to look back again once more.

Then walking at a less excited rate I just remembered that within the gate Electric wires were laid, so, turning round.

And seeing Harry still upon the ground, Cried, is there any danger at the gate?

Danger, what do you mean? at any rate You're sure there're no more wires or such like thing, No coils or batteries, no more bells to ring?

Oh, nothing of the kind, you need not fear, But, Frank, said Hal, come back and reason hear.

I shook my head and resolutely cried, No, thank you, for that moment I espied Jane opening shutters, so I quickly pushed Aside the gate, and out exulting rushed.

I breathed more freely when once fairly through, And o'er the highway to the station flew.

I caught the early train and reached my home, Almost determined nevermore to roam, For what I'd suffered on that single night, Was quite enough to make me die of fright; And as I sank upon my chair I said, Thank goodness, I've no wires above my head, For as to lighting gas I'd rather stir And light it with the humble lucifer; Encounter burglar with my own strong arm, In place of man traps to create alarm; Pull at the shower bath in a Christian way, And face to face with friends my visits pay, Than have electric wires take my commands, And do the honest work of willing hands.

IT IS BUT AN AUTUMN LEAFLET.

It is but a bright autumn leaflet, Blown adrift from the fond parent stem, To wither and perish in silence, Like many a flowering gem; But I gathered the flame-tinted treasure, As it fluttering fell at my feet, To send to my own absent darling, Her radiant glances to greet.

It grew in the grand air of freedom, From the heart of the mountain sod, Fulfilling its destiny gladly, In cheerful obedience to G.o.d.

It struggled through life well and bravely, 'Gainst wind, cruel night, frost and storm, Which gained it that bright sheen of glory, Its fond dying face to adorn.

'Tis said that the song of the bulbul, Floating sweetly through calm moonlit skies, As he sings to his dearly loved partner, Is the sweetest just ere he dies; So it seemed that the leaflet whilst dying, Was discoursing of love from its core, Which gave it a beauty and glory It had never appeared in before.

It spoke of a life in the future, Transcending the glory of this, Where hearts in harmonious concert, Would form an existence of bliss.

So I gathered the love-freighted leaflet, Which brought such sweet message to me, In hopes that its heavenly language, Might be eloquent also to thee.

For I knew that the beautiful message, Came from fond nature's glorious king, So I linked it in rhythmical measure, For you, my own darling, to sing.

And as your clear voice gives it utterance, Think of her who has sent it to thee, As a love-laden token and blessing, From her fond heart far over the sea.

WRITTEN ON BOARD THE S.S. "EGYPT," SEPTEMBER 5th, 1884.

Kind friends and pa.s.sengers, we near Our destined port, in England dear, But ere we land, our thanks are due, To our skilled captain and brave crew, For having brought us safely o'er, Broad ocean from its further sh.o.r.e, With uniform consummate care, Beyond expression or compare.

Then, Captain Sumner and your crew, Accept our loyal thanks, most true, For steering the good ship _Egypt_ o'er, In safety to her destined sh.o.r.e.

Then, as is customary here, Let these thanks find expression clear, Towards sailors' orphans, who have claim On all who safely cross the main.

Then pa.s.s the broadest plate around, Let great bright coins on it resound.

The claim ungrudgingly fulfil, With generous heart and right good will.

Then, ere we part, let each one try To sing "Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye,"

With hopes, some day, again to meet And each the other kindly greet.

ROBERVAL.

A LEGEND OF OLD FRANCE.

Never did rosy morning Sweep o'er the skirts of night, Calm nature's face adorning, With more intense delight; Never did earth exultant Summon her offspring all, To life-work, love and duty With more inspiring call,

Than in the young spring season, Three centuries ago, When Roberval set sail from France To skim broad ocean's flow.

n.o.bles, rich, young and restless, Statesmen and soldiers too, Women of birth, and sailors, Composed the adventurous crew.

Leaving St. Malo's harbour.

They steered in Cartier's wake, For that New France which Francis hoped A source of wealth to make.

For of it wondrous stories Were floating in the air, A very Paradise it seemed Of joy beyond compare.

A vast, mysterious country, Studded with gems and gold, Where virgin soil and forests grand Were girt by headlands bold.

A land of beauty, where 'twas said Celestial fountains played, Whose waters made the aged young, And Time's dread havoc stayed.

Such were the thrilling stories Of ancient Florida.

And of that favoured part of it Now known as Canada.

France, prompted by ambition, Was on its conquest bent, Though Rome to Spain had given The whole vast continent.

To subjugate a people In wildest freedom bred, Whose trade was armed barter, To utmost hardship wed, To potent savage nations, To teach the white man's creed; This was the hardy project That France's king decreed.

Among the group of women Was Marguerite, the fair Niece of the Viceroy, Roberval, Young, lovely, debonnaire, Like gleams of summer sunshine That glorify the sea, Among the ship's companions, Her presence seemed to be.

There, too, was a young n.o.ble, Who with her left his home, Content all honours to renounce, With her he loved to roam; Together had they plighted Their vows before high heaven, To the new faith together Their pledged adhesion given.

Before their loving pastor, And Marguerite's maid, with prayer, These Huguenots in secret, To sign the contract dare, In the still hour of midnight, Whilst all were thought to be, Bound in the gyves of slumber, In that ship far out at sea.